


I Stole Away and Cried

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Death Fic, M/M, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first few weeks, Jensen was angry.  It was a slow burn, the kind of anger that simmered and expanded until it completely encompassed him.  Outwardly of course, he was fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Stole Away and Cried

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://gwyntastic.livejournal.com/profile)[gwyntastic](http://gwyntastic.livejournal.com/) for all the encouragement, and to [](http://txtequilanights.livejournal.com/profile)[txtequilanights](http://txtequilanights.livejournal.com/) for kicking the crap out of my fic when I asked her to. The title belongs to Bob Dylan, from his song 'He Was a Friend of Mine;' the random song lyric used belongs to Wideawake, from their song 'Misunderstood.' And [](http://marishna.livejournal.com/profile)[marishna](http://marishna.livejournal.com/)? You guessed right. Okay, so don't kill me.

For the first few weeks, Jensen was angry. Not the kind of angry that made him punch walls or the kind of angry that made him lash out. This was a slow burn, the kind of anger that simmered and expanded until it completely encompassed him. Outwardly of course, he was fine.

Brooding, he stuffed the last of his belongings into a box and surveyed his trailer. Three seasons of great writing and even better guest cast. Three seasons of the best job he'd ever had; three weeks of packing and goodbyes that had his teeth clenched into a constant and fake smile until his jaw creaked. Three weeks because of that fucking _asshole_ \--

"Just wanted to check in, make sure you were all set." The production assistant looked sad, as they all did. Pas, after all, weren't trained to bypass their emotions like Jensen was.

He hefted the box. "I'm fine," he said. Then, because he figured the PA was expecting a little more out of him he continued, "It's been an interesting ride. I'll see you around." He was completely blanking on names today. It was probably a residual side effect of the ever-growing need to get his hands around that fucker's neck and _squeeze_ \--

The box warped in his hands and he juggled it quickly to rearrange the weight before it ripped. With a final glance about the trailer, he set off across the parking lot toward his car.

_"Look, I just feel like the show has run its course." Jared was draped over the armchair in his trailer, looking completely relaxed. "I mean, how many monsters can Sam and Dean kill before it gets old?"_

_"Last month you were saying you couldn't wait for season four."_

_"Things change, man." Jared gestured vaguely. "I don't want 'Supernatural' to be one of those shows that go on forever and get progressively worse. If it's gonna end, it should end while it's good."_

Jared had always struck Jensen as one of those really rare guys who was completely open and straightforward. The Jared he'd thought he'd known was big-hearted and friends with everyone from the moment he met them, and always thought twice before acting in case his actions could hurt someone. He'd talked often of squeezing every last drop out of 'Supernatural' and staying on the project as long as there was even one fan left.

Jensen tossed the box into the backseat of his car and slammed the door harder than strictly necessary. He guessed Jared'd had them all fooled.

 

**·   ·   ·   ·   ·**

  
Naturally, the month and a half that followed Jensen's return to Los Angeles post-'Supernatural' were filled with at the very least, the pretense of moving on. Casting agents were apparently keenly interested in typecasting him as the brooding, asskicking sort of character he hadn't been ready to shed. That didn't, however, mean he wanted to play various incarnations of Dean Winchester for the rest of his career. Although he'd attempted to make this clear to his agent, the man kept pushing the same role with different names at him.

He was in line at Starbucks, threatening his agent over the phone with the role of a meth-addicted drag queen -- "I'm serious. Get me something good or I'll sign off on it." -- when, switching the phone to his other ear so he could take his coffee, he came across a small, perky shadow of the past.

"Jensen?" His name was accompanied by a barely five-foot flurry of movement toward him and a blinding smile. "How've you been?"

"Look, we'll talk later," Jensen said, and snapped his phone closed, slipping it into his pocket. Hot coffee in one hand, he turned to the speaker with a polite smile and nod. "Sandy. I've been okay." He gestured at a table toward the back, away from the windows.

Once settled across from Jensen, Sandy's smile faded slightly. "Have you heard from him?"

Jensen scowled into his coffee but tried not to let it show when he set the cup down. "No," he said. "I would've thought you had, though."

"Not for almost three months," Sandy said, and this time the smile was brittle. "It was so sudden, you know? One day he's whining about this bad case of the flu, and the next he's telling me we need to talk." Her fingertips, Jensen noted, were very white against the table top. "I thought he was going to ask me to marry him."

Jared, it seemed, had fucked over more than just the 'Supernatural' cast and crew. "I'm so sorry," Jensen said. He reached across the table to pat Sandy's hand.

"He wouldn't even tell me _why_. That's what bothers me the most." She sniffed once, then blotted at her eyes with a napkin. "It was this stupid excuse, you know? 'We've grown apart.' But that was complete bullshit, and we both knew it."

"Sandy -- "

"All I could get out of his mother was that he's left the country." She shook her head. "But I've been brooding long enough. What have you been up to? Anything interesting?"

Jensen shrugged. "My agent seems to think I want to be a leather-clad gunslinger for the rest of my life. That wouldn't be so bad if he'd find me a Western to work on, but I think even _he's_ typecasting me now."

"So what are you gonna do?" Sandy asked him. Somehow, he thought, she wasn't asking about his career.

 

**·   ·   ·   ·   ·**

  
In the middle of a torrential downpour, Jensen navigated his rental car down the suburban streets outside San Antonio. Now and then, a passing car would splash so much water up onto the windshield that even with the wipers running he was temporarily blinded. The streets were beginning to flood, and it was with a sigh of relief that he finally pulled into the driveway of a nice house. He braced himself for a minute, then whipped open the door and jogged up to the entrance of the house, where a smiling, middle-aged woman was standing in the open doorway, waving in greeting.

"Mrs. Padalecki -- ," he began, only to be cut short.

"Now, Jensen, I've told you a dozen times to call me Sherri."

He smiled. They both knew he'd never do it. "I'm worried about Jared," he said, but she interrupted again.

"That's what you told me on the phone, sweetie. Now why don't you come in out of the rain and tell me why you're really here?"

Jared had warned him several times about his momma's finely-tuned bullshit detector. It seemed to be working fine right now, even though Jensen was surprised to realize as he walked into the house that he really _was_ worried.

"You can leave your jacket right here," Mrs. Padalecki said, gesturing at a row of pegs affixed to the wall. "Can I get you something to drink? I've got a pitcher of lemonade all made up in the fridge."

Jensen obligingly shrugged out of his light coat and hung it on a peg, then followed Jared's mother deeper into the house. "Lemonade would be fine, thanks," he said.

"You want to know where my boy is," Mrs. Padalecki stated. "Not that I blame you. It wasn't like him, walking out on y'all like that." She poured two tall glasses of lemonade and set one in front of Jensen on the island counter, with a coaster underneath. "Have a seat," she said, motioning toward a bar stool, and Jensen sat.

"Thank you," he said, lifting the lemonade. He heard dogs barking outside. His eyes widened slightly -- Jared had abandoned Harley and Sadie, too.  
  
"Before I tell you where he is, I want you to promise me you're not gonna pick a fight with him." She looked away for a minute; when she returned her attention to Jensen her eyes were bright and her voice was a bit rough. "He's gone through a lot..."

"We all have," Jensen replied. He took a sip of the lemonade and swirled it about in his mouth. It was real lemonade, made with fresh lemons and lots of sugar, and not that powdered imposter he'd had to live with since he'd moved to Los Angeles. "It was a pretty strange transition, going from the show to unemployment."

"Yes, well," Mrs. Padalecki said. It looked like she wanted to say so much, but she spent the next hour holding it back. Instead they talked about Jensen, about his career prospects and his life.

And then, finally, she told him. Australia. Of _course_. Jared had sometimes mentioned he wanted to live there someday. Jensen supposed 'someday' had arrived earlier than Jared had anticipated.

"You take care of my little boy," she said, hugging him tight as they stood on her driveway. "You let him know his momma loves him."

"Of course I will," he said. He meant it.

 

**·   ·   ·   ·   ·**

  
Jensen wasn't much of a fan of air travel. The fourteen-hour flight to Sydney had agitated him to the extent that even the relief of finally being back on the ground hadn't calmed him. The ensuing drive from the airport was hellish, compounded by his lack of practice at driving on the opposite side of the road. By the time he arrived at the little house Jared had rented, he was itching for a fight.

He shut the door of his rental car so firmly that the vehicle rocked, then strode purposefully up the driveway. He rang the doorbell and stood waiting on the doorstep with clenched fists.

The door opened and Jensen immediately launched into the speech that he'd been practicing for months. "You _asshole_. What the fuck gives you the right to walk out on everyone like that? And not just me, but everyone in Vancouver. And Sandy. And your _family_. Who do you think you are -- "

Jared slumped against the doorframe, the action cutting off Jensen's tirade mid-sentence. It was only then that Jensen really _looked_ at his former co-star.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Nice to see you, too," Jared said with a weak smile, completely derailing Jensen's anger. He pushed off the doorframe, standing on visibly shaky legs. "Since it's an awful long way back to LA, I might as well invite you in."

"Jared. What the hell happened?" Jensen followed him into the small house, watching the careful way Jared walked and frowning when Jared sighed in audible relief as he sank into a plush, comfortable-looking chair in the living room.

Jared shook his head. "Not right now." He eased his legs up onto an ottoman. "I'm guessing you talked to my mother?"

"Yeah." Jensen fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, shifting from foot to foot as he tried not to stare at Jared. The other man was a shadow of himself. He was very pale, especially for someone who tanned the minute the sun's rays got anywhere near him, and the rings under his eyes were pronounced and dark. His hair was short, buzzed close to the scalp -- and Jared had always been so proud of his shaggy, floppy mane, too. But more shocking even than the lack of hair was how _thin_ he'd gotten --

"Have a seat." Jared gestured at the couch opposite his easy chair.

Jensen sat, at first right on the edge of the couch cushions, but then he leaned back. He supposed he could pretend to be comfortable, at least. "You're sick," he said, then bit his tongue.

"Observant as always," Jared muttered, running a hand over his short-shorn hair. "What are you doing here?"

Fidgeting some more, Jensen said, "I came for answers. I -- we had something really great, you know. On the show."

Jared sighed. "Yeah, I know. I hated having to give it up." He tensed, and then his brows knit together and he grimaced, hissing. He reached with trembling fingers for a prescription bottle on the little folding table next to his chair and dry-swallowed a white pill. "I had to, though. That line I fed you about going out while the show was still good was complete bullshit. You know that, right?"

"I sorta figured," Jensen said.

"So I came here to rest. Doctor said relaxation would be good for me, and to do that I had to get away, y'know?"

 

**·   ·   ·   ·   ·**

  
Mornings weren't Jared's thing anymore. He'd always be first to the set back in Vancouver, but now he was sluggish and groggy upon waking, and often susceptible to bouts of clumsiness. Although he still got up early, it took him far longer to get going. Jensen took to pouring Jared's cereal and preparing his coffee after three mornings in a row of crashes and muffled curses from the kitchen woke him up far earlier than he was accustomed to.

Now, a week after his arrival he sat across from Jared at the table in the kitchen, eating a bowl of frosted flakes. "Your mom told me to take care of you," he said, and smiled when Jared snorted into his coffee.

"Sounds like her. I don't need taking care of just yet, though." The way his skin stretched across his bones suggested otherwise, but Jensen refrained from mentioning it.

"She's just worried, I think." Jensen took a bite of his cereal and crunched it satisfyingly. "It's what moms do. You wouldn't believe how mine reacted when I told her I was following you out here."

Jared set down his coffee cup. "Let me guess: something to the extent of 'I can't believe you're going to Australia when you should be worried about your job!' with a side of 'What if something happens while you're gone?' am I right?"

Jensen, who'd frozen with his spoon halfway to his mouth, set it down in the bowl. " _Never_ do that again. Fuck, I thought she was in the room for a second, there."

"I always said I was the better actor," Jared said with a smug grin.

"You never said that!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I thought it."

Jensen flicked a frosted flake at him.

 

"So, what were you going to do when you got here?" Jared asked one afternoon. He lowered the volume on the television and turned fully to face Jensen, although it looked like the movement caused him quite a bit of discomfort.

"Well," Jensen said, a little embarrassed. "I was going to yell a lot, and curse some. Demand an apology, I guess."

"I'm kinda glad you didn't," Jared said. "It would've made it hard for me to ask you to stay for awhile. I'm not really into having guests who are harboring homicidal thoughts toward me."

Jensen shook his head, wanting to put that thought out of Jared's head. "I didn't want to kill you. I was just... really pissed, you know? Best job I've ever had and you sorta ruined it for me, man. But you've got to hear about this role I've just signed off on -- it's completely out there."

"The drug addict?" Jared asked, and Jensen frowned.

"How'd you know?"

"I do talk to my mother, you know," Jared said. "She mentioned something about it."

Jensen rubbed the back of his neck. "I censored it a bit for her sake," he said. "It's a meth-addicted drag queen prostitute. Think I can pull it off?"

"Well, you _are_ girly looking enough -- " Jared joked with a laugh.

Jensen scowled but couldn't help the chuckle that escaped, and soon they were both laughing loudly. It was when Jared's laughter turned to coughing that wouldn't stop. Jensen realized there was something seriously wrong. He watched with wide eyes as Jared, who was now gasping for air between coughs, pressed a button on the beige plastic medallion he now constantly wore around his neck.

 

**·   ·   ·   ·   ·**

  
Jensen'd always hated hospitals. They were places of renewal and healing, to be sure, but that knowledge never quite compensated for all the news he seemed to receive again and again in them. . . Bad news. Like his grandfather's kidney failure, and his grandmother's heart attack...

"It's cancer."

Jensen closed his eyes as his gut clenched, like giant fist had twisted his insides into knots. He wasn't surprised; he'd recognized all the signs. But knowing and _knowing_ were always so different. "How long?" he asked around the lump in his throat.

"Two months, maybe three. It started out as a growth in my femur, they figure, but by the time they caught it it'd spread. The chemo didn't work, and -- " Jared took a shuddering breath, then was silent for a moment. The only sound in the room was the soft rustling of hospital-issue sheets. "There's a tumor on my heart."

"Shit." Jensen didn't know what to say. He wasn't really great in this sort of situation even when he was acting, and now it was _real_ \--

"My doctors told me they wanted to try radiation. I said no."

But it could cure him. Jensen said as much, frowning when Jared shook his head.

"It doesn't get rid of tumors altogether. Even if it were successful I'd still have a tumor on my heart, and cancer in my bones. I'm gonna die, Jensen." He sounded so sure, so resigned to his fate, that Jensen was torn between fighting and consoling him. "It's just happening a lot sooner than I expected."

Jensen was sure the emotion was plain on his face when he stood abruptly and took a few steps away from the bed. He took a few deep, calming breaths, then returned to Jared's bedside and sat back down, features schooled into what he hoped was a reassuring expression.

"Don't do that," Jared chastised. "You've always been real with me, no matter how you act around other people."

"I'm not sure what to do, here," Jensen said. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I could... hold your hand, maybe?"

Jared chuckled, but the laugh broke off into a cough. "Dude, you sound like you're a twelve-year-old trying to figure out his first girlfriend or something." He didn't hesitate however, Jensen noticed, in sliding his hand toward the edge of the bed.

 

**·   ·   ·   ·   ·**

  
It was two weeks before Jared was released from the hospital. During those weeks he'd told Jensen a few times to go back to LA, to get a hotel room at least. To get out of the hospital, because it was making him crazy -- which, in turn, was making Jared crazy. Jensen had refused every suggestion. He recalled the last time Jared had tried to urge him out...

_"Come on, man. At least go back to my house and have a real shower -- you're starting to smell worse than a locker room." Although his tone was joking, Jensen saw the real concern in Jared's eyes._

_"I shower plenty," he replied. "There's one person in this room who hasn't used the fancy bathroom in this hospital suite, and it's not me."_

_"Jensen," Jared said, and Jensen knew what was coming. He'd heard it several times in the last ten days. "Staying here with me all the time -- it's not good for you. Just go, okay? For a couple hours, at least."_

_"No," Jensen said then, shaking his head adamantly._

_"Jensen -- "_

_"No, Jared. Look -- I need to stay. What if something -- " he broke off and took a deep breath. For a minute, it felt like he couldn't get enough air. "I'm staying."_

After that, Jensen hadn't heard a word out of Jared about leaving. Not once in four days.

 

**·   ·   ·   ·   ·**

  
A week and a half after his release, Jared was going stir-crazy. "I want to see the ocean," he said.

Jensen was a little concerned about the idea; too much exertion and Jared would be right back where they started, in the hospital. "You need your rest," he argued.

"I'll rest in the car," Jared said. "I don't want to swim or surf, or anything -- I just want to lie on the beach and get sand in weird places."

Jensen frowned. "Can't we give it a week until you're feeling a little better?" he asked.

Giving him what could only be classified as a _look_ , Jared said, "I feel better _now_. I'm tired of board games and television, dude. Even if it's just for an hour or so, I want to get out of this damn house." He reached over and grabbed Jensen's wrist, his thumb pressing against Jensen's pulse point. "Please."

Staring at Jared's hand, Jensen agreed. An hour later they were shore bound.

Jared slept in the car on the way to the beach. Every so often Jensen would glance over and watch the way the sun played over his pale skin and reflected off his sunglasses. Then he'd turn his attention back to the road and tap his fingertips on the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song was playing on the radio.

The beach was fairly crowded, but they managed to secure a spot on the sand, far enough away from the throngs of swimsuit-clad people to lie down on some towels and relax. After awhile of just basking in the sun next to Jared, who was lying in the shade of the beach umbrella, Jensen went down to the water.

He came back five minutes later, skin drying in the warm sea air and muttering about jellyfish.

"Don't tell me you're scared of squishy little invertebrates," Jared said with a snicker, pushing his sunglasses up onto the top of his head so he could get a good look at Jensen.

Jensen sat down on his towel with a huff. "Squishy little _poisonous_ invertebrates, you mean." He picked up a spare towel and furiously rubbed his head with it. "Those things are scary. I know -- I've watched _Finding Nemo_."

At that, Jared threw back his head and laughed. Watching him, Jensen couldn't help but letting out a snicker, his sulk forgotten.

They returned to Jared's little house that evening, still sandy from the beach. It had been a good day -- with the help of his painkillers he'd felt relatively good all afternoon. He'd looked... _happy_.

Suddenly it didn't matter that Jared was pale and skinny, that he had dark shadows under his eyes and that his lips were semi-permanently chapped. The light was back in his eyes, and Jensen couldn't help himself. As Jared reached for the handle of the car door, Jensen caught his cheek with his palm, then leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was awkward. Their noses bumped a few times, and Jared's breath was a little sour, his lips a little rough. But when they pulled away, Jared smiled. Not that little half-smile Jensen'd seen so many times in the past few weeks, but a real, wide smile. It made something inside Jensen squeeze tight, then release all at once.

"You have the world's worst timing, man," Jared said, shaking his head and getting out of the car. His knees buckled and Jensen jogged around the vehicle to his side, ready to help him into the house. Jared gratefully draped his arm around Jensen's shoulders, letting Jensen take most of his weight. "I had a good time today. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jensen said. He pointedly ignored the way his fingers were rubbing along Jared's hip as they walked.

Inside, they settled onto the couch and surfed through the channels on the television until one of the mass-produced teen movies from the 1990s came on. They fell into an easy banter, laughing at the cheesy dialogue and cringing at the poor acting.

"Oh, come _on_. Like that ever happened at any high school, anywhere."

"It's called suspension of disbelief, dude. Ever hear of it?"

At some point, Jensen cracked up during a scene and noticed that Jared was silent. He was asleep, his head leaned back against the back of the couch. Jensen frowned, then carefully repositioned Jared so his head was in his lap, covered Jared with a throw blanket that had been draped over one armrest, and spent the rest of the movie paying more attention to the way the soft bristles of Jared's hair felt against his fingertips than to the movie.

When the credits rolled and Jared still hadn't woken up, Jensen stared down at him for a moment and then carefully eased away. He stood, then bent down and gently picked Jared up, stifling a gasp at how light he was. Carrying Jared into the bedroom was no problem, but getting him into bed was a little more difficult. As Jensen struggled to pull down the sheets and set Jared on the bed, Jared woke.

"What, now you think you're Prince Charming or something?" Jared mumbled with a lopsided smile, his eyes hooded. "Carryin' me to bed..."

"Hey, if you hadn't fallen asleep on me I wouldn't have felt obligated. I could've left your unconscious ass on the couch, you know." He absolutely wouldn't have, though, and they both knew it. "Here," he said. "Let's get you changed."

Jared batted feebly at Jensen's hands, but quickly gave up. "You just want to see me naked," he said, grinning. "I see how it is. Trying to seduce me while I'm helpless; you should be ashamed of yourself." The grin widened, and for a moment Jensen couldn't say anything at all.

"You try seducing a six and a half-foot sasquatch when he's feeling great," Jensen countered finally.

Jared shrugged. "Yeah, well, I used to every morning in the shower." He lifted his hips a little to help Jensen pull off his shorts. "Not that difficult, man." His hips rose again, and he watched as Jensen pulled a pair of soft flannel pajama pants over his underwear.

"Even if I'd stopped to think of you in a less than platonic way while we were working together, you're." Jensen paused for a moment, thinking. "Intimidating, you know? Even when you're -- " He stopped suddenly, hands fisting in the tee-shirt he'd pulled out for Jared to wear to bed.

"Dying," Jared supplied softly, and Jensen winced. He reached out and covered Jensen's hand with his. "I know, man. It was hard for me to take, too."

If it had been anyone else, Jensen would've jerked away and spat something about his distaste for people who patronized, but this was Jared. There wasn't any way possible that he was being anything less than sincere. "So you're... okay with it?" He swallowed hard.

"Hell no, I'm not okay with it," Jared replied. "I'm gonna die before I'm thirty. There's nothing okay about that -- but it's gonna happen. I can't fight it... it'll only make things worse." His face disappeared into the soft cotton of the tee shirt then, as Jensen pulled it over his head.

"Let's get you under the covers," Jensen said then, feeling a little desperate to change the topic.

"Jensen."

Although he could feel Jared's eyes on him while he tucked Jared carefully in, he didn't look at the other man until he'd fluffed the pillow and eased Jared back onto it. "Look, can we... not?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Jared shifted on the bed. "Sleep here tonight?"

"I -- Jared -- " Jensen began. He inwardly berated himself for acting like such a chick.

"I promise not to molest you in your sleep. But what am I saying? I should be worried about _my_ virtue, what with you trying to get into my pants and putting your tongue in my mouth, and all." Jared was smiling again and Jensen felt himself gravitating toward him, but he paused again when Jared's smile faded. "I just don't want to be alone," he said, and at that moment he'd never looked smaller or more frail. The words he left unspoken echoed loudly through the room even as Jensen slid into bed beside him.

It was a long time before Jensen slept; he kept his eyes open as long as he could. For hours, he watched the rise and fall of Jared's chest. He memorized the sharp jut of his collarbone. He forced himself not to touch the fragile, knobby bones of his fingers and wrist.

When his breathing finally evened out and his eyelids fluttered downwards, the sun's first rays were barely beginning to lighten the horizon.

 

**·   ·   ·   ·   ·**

  
He didn't notice at first that he was dreaming, and when he did he didn't want to wake up.

It was a jumbled smattering of sensation: the warm brush of skin on skin, the wetness of a mouth on his throat, strong hands pressing against his back. A long, leanly-muscled thigh situating itself between his. More wetness, dragging along his hip.

The obviousness of the dream didn't present itself until his fingers threaded through thick, soft hair. He tugged on it, revealing Jared -- not as he appeared lying next to him in the bed in the little house in Australia, but Jared as he'd been a year ago -- seemingly healthy, strong, and beautiful.

And then, Christ -- they were fucking, hard and intense. It was as though they'd done it a hundred times before; they knew each other's bodies and expertly put their hands in just those places that made each other crazy. Sex was never this good. Never this perfect.

It made Jensen feel... _wrong_ , somehow. Wrong enough that he awoke with a gasp to find the sun streaming through the vertical blinds and the bed empty. He put on his clothes, feeling unclean and guilty. It was ridiculous; he couldn't compare the Jared of a year ago to the Jared he knew now. They were the same man, after all.

Still, he couldn't shake the dirty feeling as he ran a hand through his hair and walked into the living room. And then Jared put down his book and smiled up at him from the easy chair. It was like absolution.

"Good morning," Jensen murmured, his voice rough from disuse.

"How did you sleep?" Jared asked.

Jensen shrugged. "Like a log," he replied. He figured it must've been true enough; he only ever really dreamed during the last hour or so of his sleep, and it was well-past noon now. He approached Jared's chair. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, even though he'd jumped straight past the permission thing yesterday afternoon.

"You have to ask?" Jared smiled some more.

Today his lips were soft and tasted faintly of cherries. Jensen sighed into the kiss, then leaned back after a moment, licking up the taste of lip balm and Jared. "No more complaints about my timing?" he asked.

"I'm not gonna waste time complaining," Jared replied. He licked his lips self-consciously. "Figured I'd better dig out my Chap-Stick if there was gonna be kissing going on around here."

"You're not gonna hear me complain, either," Jensen said. He dropped another quick kiss on Jared's lips, ran his hand over Jared's short-shorn hair, and straightened. "Have you eaten?"

"I had lunch about an hour ago. You were asleep a long time."

"Guess I was tired," he said over his shoulder as he strolled into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and peered inside with dismay. A jar of olives, a bottle of ketchup, and some sketchy-looking lunchmeat were randomly placed on the otherwise empty shelves. "You have no food," he called.

"I know," Jared replied. "You ate it all. There should be some Pop Tarts or something."

"You calling me a pig, Padalecki?" Jensen called as he rooted around in the cupboards, finally coming up with a box of the toaster pastries.

"Hey, you know I hate stating the obvious."

Through a bite of Pop Tart, Jensen warned, "You'll pay for that comment!"

"Oh yeah?" Jared was grinning when Jensen returned to the living room. "We'll see."

 

**·   ·   ·   ·   ·**

  
Jensen placed his purchases on the belt at the check-out. The selections he'd made weren't the most heart-healthy of items, but Jared had told him in no uncertain terms when he'd been getting ready to go that he wasn't going to eat "old person food." If he was going to die, anyway, he'd reasoned, he might as well do it with a good steak in his belly. Jensen had laughed.

It wasn't until he was a few minutes down the road from Jared's house that he'd had to pull over, blinded by tears.

Now, as he pulled out his credit card and paid for the groceries, he decided that the grief could wait. This new, tentative and fragile thing he had with Jared was far more important. But hell, Jared was right about him having shit timing.

He carried the groceries to the car. The seatbelt was stuck again; he yanked on it a few times and it came loose so he could buckle up. As he pulled out into traffic, a new song began to play on the local radio station. The tank was low on gas. He figured he'd fill it up later.

The voice on the radio sang frankly, "I'm sorry I'm not all the things that you want..."

Jensen gripped the wheel more tightly and waited for the stoplight to turn green. When the song finally changed he was relieved. The tension that had begun to build between his shoulders slowly eased as the opening piano chords of some plaintive pop ballad flowed out through the speakers.

He eased the car into Jared's driveway and shut off the engine, then grabbed his bag of groceries from the passenger seat and carried it up the walkway. His trainer would threaten him with squats if she knew the contents of the bag. It was lucky then, that she was halfway across the world right now, probably wondering when the hell he'd be back.

"Hey!" he called as he walked inside. "I got steak and salad. You'd better be hungry tonight."

The drone of the television was his response. He put the food in the refrigerator and walked into the living room, glancing at the TV and then at Jared.

At the bottle of painkillers lying open on its side on the TV tray, pills scattered across the tray's surface.

"Lose that unsightly body fat for bikini season!" an advertisement proclaimed cheerfully as he reached for his phone with shaking fingers.

 

**·   ·   ·   ·   ·**

  
_One of Hollywood's rising stars has died. Jared Padalecki, star of the cancelled TV drama 'Supernatural,' was reportedly found dead this afternoon in his home in Australia..._


End file.
